


we'll beat a path through the mirrored maze

by leonshardt



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, Spy's Head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 10:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5160911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonshardt/pseuds/leonshardt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Should have killed the bastard in the last round, should have, but aren’t they having fun, now?</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll beat a path through the mirrored maze

This is not the worst kind of torture he’s experienced thus far. Not by a long shot. Spy likes to think he could get used to anything, given enough time and inclination, but there’s no denying the discomfort in his current predicament.

The air is dry. The fridge’s manufactured cold leeches out every drop of moisture from his skin, cracks his lips until they bleed and scab over and bleed again. Tongue feels like sandpaper on the roof of his mouth. He would kill for a glass of water right now, if he still had the stomach for it. Would kill even more for a cigarette if he still had lungs in his body instead of a system of tubes and pumps that keep him breathing. Alive.

“Docteur,” he says in the darkness. He doesn’t particularly expect a response, but a slim chance is better than nothing. “Let me out.”

There’s a pause, and then muffled sounds from beyond the closed door. And then the world opens up. The light hits at the same time as the warmth; for a moment Spy is blinded, unused to the artificial brightness of the outside world. He blinks away the spots from behind his eyelids, squinting up at the towering form above him.

“Spy,” Medic greets.

Compared to the oppressive darkness inside the refrigerator, there is suddenly so much to see. But Spy focuses first on the enemy medic, so towering and imposing to his current state. A voice catches at his tongue. There are several things he wants to say, like _You better start watching your back_ , _you stupid bastard,_ or _I hope you sterilized this miserable hunk of a refrigerator_ , but instead what comes out is, “Cigarette.”

Medic raises one arched eyebrow. Here is what they both know: the suffering isn’t ever the hardest part. Waiting is another matter entirely, and sometimes a man could just use a goddamn smoke. Medic leaves him on his desk while he rummages through a drawer; a pause, a click, and there’s a light. He takes the first drag, exhaling at the ceiling thoughtfully. Spy watches the bob of his throat as he swallows. Imagines biting down on the soft spot under his chin and tearing his throat out with his teeth.

Medic looks down at him, eyes dark. Reaches down to trace a finger at the corner of his mouth, where his lips cracked from the cold and healed over, only to be bitten open again in bored fury. Spy meets his eyes, does not blink. Darts his tongue out to lick at the pad of Medic’s thumb, smirking when he tastes blood.

“I was wondering,” Medic says, “why you didn’t kill me that time you had the chance.” He trails his hand lower, hooks a finger under the edge of Spy’s mask. His hands are warm against his face like the handle of a gun under the desert sun. A parody of tenderness. The smoke curls around his angles of Medic’s face and Spy does not look away, cannot bring himself to look away. He longs for a knife. Should have killed the bastard in the last round, should have, but aren’t they having fun, now?

“Don’t you dare,” Spy says, and he doesn’t even laugh. Medic tilts his head and slowly removes his hands. Takes one last drag before offering the lit cigarette to Spy, who takes it between his teeth. If anything, he can take pleasure in getting ashes all over Medic’s desk. Serves the bastard right for not giving him a tray.

Why didn’t he kill him, after all? He had never hesitated before, but there was something terrible and perfect in Medic’s eyes that day he couldn’t explain. Maybe he just wanted to stay a little longer. Death threats make for short conversation, after all.

And then, it doesn’t end.

 

*

 

“Kill me.”

“Later.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr @leonshardt


End file.
